


Deconstruction

by Rynfinity



Series: Out of the Mouths of Babes [5]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - Human, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mental Institutions, Physical Abuse, Sibling Incest, Substance Abuse, Suicide Notes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-15
Updated: 2014-03-20
Packaged: 2018-01-15 21:12:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1319356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rynfinity/pseuds/Rynfinity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He clears his throat again, willing himself not to cry here in front of this put-together stranger.  “Please tell him I was here, and that I love him very much.  It’s very important that he not feel abandoned.”</p><p>This is a direct sequel to Restitution and will make the most sense read after its predecessors.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thor finally admits he can't do this on his own.
> 
> We may be impressed, but Loki isn't.

Getting Loki committed turns out to be almost ridiculously easy. Too easy; afterwards, even though he has truly spared no expense and has made all the necessary arrangements to have his brother admitted to the nicest, best-rated place he and Sif and Sigyn can collectively identify, Thor feels horribly guilty.

He hasn’t broken the letter of the law – he didn’t send his brother back to _that place,_ after all – but he knows for certain he’s violated the living hell out of the spirit thereof. 

It’s not like Loki’d capitulated, either. Even after he’d been confirmed medically stable and cleared for release - to the nice, expensive inpatient facility which would be his home away from home for the next several months – the medical team had been forced to keep Loki in four-points. Thor could hear his furious brother screaming and thrashing around, the rolling hospital bed occasionally connecting loudly with a wall, all the way out in the corridor.

When he’d gone in to say goodbye, Loki had spit at him.

So, yes, Thor feels horribly, incredibly guilty.

~

He feels unconscionably guilty, in fact, right up to the point in time where – after he’s gotten back to the empty, silent apartment and started dutifully cleaning up the mess – he finds the note. It’s a single folded sheet of heavy paper, lying on the floor by Loki’s nightstand. In the earlier chaos, he and Sif had somehow managed to overlook it.

_I’m afraid I will never be what you want me to be, Thor,_ the note reads in part, its words written neatly and precisely in dark green ink, _and to be honest I’m just too tired of trying. I don’t have it in me to do it anymore._ It’s signed _Love, Loki._ There isn’t a heart over the _i_ this time.

Thor blinks and reads the entire note again. And a third time. Afterwards, he stares at it a long, long time, eyes out of focus, the paper a green and white blur.

He crumples it into a tight ball, then changes his mind and smoothes it carefully flat again. Once it’s as neat as possible Thor gets slowly to his feet and stows the note carefully away in the top drawer of his desk.

And then he screams, as long and as loudly as he can.

When he can’t scream anymore, Thor rages through the apartment. By the he runs out of steam he has managed to break many things… not the least of which being the small bone closest to the pinkie-finger side of his hand.

~

He can’t go back to the hospital, not after the shitshow earlier. Instead, he digs clumsily for his phone – right pants pocket, left hand – and calls Sif.

“Ice it, elevate it,” she says. If she’s annoyed at the way Team Odinson has totally fucked up her evening, she graciously doesn’t say so. “Are you at the apartment? I’ll be over in a few minutes,” she offers when he confirms.

~

“That’s harsh,” she says after reading the note. She looks up at Thor, expression worried. “But you do know this isn’t about you, right? You do know this is all about Loki?”

Intellectually, sure, he does. But emotionally? It feels very, very personal. In fact, it feels like betrayal.

~

“You’ll know when you’re ready to go visit,” his therapist tells him. “I think you’ll find you feel better about going out there once you’ve worked through more of your own feelings.”

It makes sense, it does. Even so, “I can’t even sort out what I feel,” Thor tells the social worker. “I want to apologize, and then I want to shred him for doing this to me, and then I want to apologize again. I’m starting to wonder which of us is really crazy,” he adds. He is.

“The way you’re feeling is perfectly natural given the circumstances,” the therapist assures him.

It’s not until he’s nearly back home, replaying the session in his head for the third or fourth time, that Thor realizes his _crazy_ question went unanswered.

~

The social worker is right about working through feelings, of course. Maybe it’s because of that, maybe it’s not… but Thor carefully doesn’t mention _crazy_ to him again.

~

Walking up the sidewalk, Thor can’t deny it: the place really is lovely. Once a stately Victorian-era home, the huge mansion sits at the crest of a gently sloping hill. The sprawling grounds are graced with well-manicured gardens. The complex doesn’t look (like a complex, even; not) at all like an asylum, or a substance abuse treatment unit (or both, which it is) – instead, it most closely resembles a swanky bed-and-breakfast. In better times it would be the perfect setting for a romantic weekend getaway.

Yes, as he gets close, Thor can see there are bars. But these bars are subtle and understated and crafted to blend perfectly with the original architecture.

The outer doors open – to the accompaniment of a distant musical chime – into a paneled wood entry hall cum registration desk. The bed-and-breakfast vibe continues here; there isn’t a single brushstroke of institutional green paint anywhere to be seen, and the period-appropriate lights all have pretty red fabric shades. Really, the only thing that’s missing is the tasteful rack of brochures highlighting local businesses and attractions.

There isn’t a single protective metal cage or alarm box in sight.

An impeccably-dressed staffer joins him, via a paneled door nearly hidden behind the heavy wooden counter. The door shuts silently behind her, a faint metallic click the only thing even the least bit out of place. “May I be of assistance, sir,” she asks with a friendly smile.

Thor reaches over the countertop and extends a hand. “Hi, I’m Thor. I’m here to visit Loki. One of your clients, I mean: Loki Laufeyson,” he explains, belatedly remembering this actually is a medical facility despite all appearances to the contrary. “I probably should have called ahead,” he goes on when she doesn’t answer immediately, “but your website said visiting hours were 1:00 pm to 3:00 pm, so I thought I would just stop by.”

She smiles again, typing something into a computer stashed out of view below the high counter. “Of course, that’s fine. Here,” – she gestures towards a dark grey tufted velvet Chesterfield sofa over near the windows – “have a seat, please, sir; I just need to check with Mr. Laufeyson’s care team.”

He sits as directed; she leaves the way she came.

~

When she returns, though, the receptionist is no longer smiling. Instead, she looks professionally sympathetic. “I’m sorry, sir,” she explains as he gets to his feet. “But Mr. Laufeyson’s doctor has asked me to inform you that Mr. Laufeyson is not accepting visitors.”

“I’m not a visitor,” Thor hastens to clarify. “I’m Loki’s-.” He stops, suddenly not sure which description to use.

“His domestic partner,” she finishes. “Yes, I know. But I’m sorry; the doctor expressly indicated Mr. Laufeyson is seeing no one. That includes family and friends.”

“But I’m footing the bill,” Thor jokes, trying to cover how flustered he feels.

She smiles, less cheerfully this time. “And we greatly appreciate that, sir. As, I’m sure, does Mr. Laufeyson. But his doctor did indicate that your partner has made his wishes clear. I’m sure you realize that we must honor his choices. Mr. Laufeyson is an adult, after all.”

Thor blinks back the tears that well up unexpectedly. He doesn’t have a plan in place for this turn of events; for being rebuffed. For being rejected. He clears his throat. “Um, okay. I guess, like I said before, I really should have called first.” But then he has an idea; a way to perhaps salvage some small bit of the situation. “Are you able to have his doctor give him a message from me?”

She brightens, evidently relieved that things are going marginally better. “Of course I can do that for you, sir.” She picks up a pad and pen and looks up at him expectantly. “Go ahead,” she offers when Thor says nothing.

Oh, right. He’s going to have to dictate it. He clears his throat again, willing himself not to cry here in front of this put-together stranger. “Please tell him I was here, and that I love him very much. It’s very important that he not feel abandoned,” he stresses.

“Of course, sir. Thank you for stopping by.”

She’s very nice and polite, but the message couldn’t be more clear: He isn’t welcome here.

So he thanks her as well. Then he, too, leaves the way he came.

~

Most of the way home, Thor cries. This? Whatever this is, he never thought it would happen.

~

When he unlocks his apartment, Sif calls out a cheery hello from the kitchen. _Oh, right,_ he belatedly remembers, _she’d said she would stop over and check in on her way to work._

“How did it go,” she asks brightly, her back to him as she rinses the coffeemaker.

He snuffs hard. It’s his apartment; he can be disgusting if he wants to.

She turns quickly at the sound. “Oh. Not good, huh,” she asks as she catches a good look at his tearstained face.

“His doctor said he didn’t want to see me,” Thor tells her, unable to help choking up again towards the end.

Sif comes over to him, drying her hands on her scrubs, and gives him a solid hug. She pats his back as he sobs away. “Aww, I’m sorry, buddy. But he’s okay, at least?”

_Fuck._

The harsh reality of it – that he didn’t even bother to _ask_ \- only leaves Thor crying all the harder.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Progress gets made.

Last time around, all those years ago, Loki’s confinement had come as a huge relief.

This time, it’s a whole lot more like torture.

~

“Do you think Loki would like this,” he asks Sif and Sigyn anxiously. They’re out at the shore – the two women are really the only people in Thor’s circle who _get_ what he’s going through, so he’s taken to orchestrating fun little excursions in return for their tolerating his endless-feeling grieving and self-doubt and guilt.

Well, they’re fun excursions for Sif and Sigyn, especially now that the two of them have forged something closely resembling friendship. For Thor? Everywhere they go, there’s still a Loki-sized hole nothing else can fill.

Sigyn takes the postcard from Thor’s outstretched fingers and studies it closely. It’s a picture of the boardwalk stretching out into the distance, on a sunny day much like today. She smiles, looking from the card to the real thing and back again. “Yes,” she pronounces, decisive. “It makes me feel very- very hopeful. I think it will make Loki feel hopeful, too.”

~

The whole _postcard thing_ had started out as a little project of his own; just something to keep himself busy, to help change his focus. Thor has learned in therapy that he tends to obsess, and that – while obsessing can be quite useful – it’s not necessarily the healthiest way he could be spending his time.

And he really needs to get himself healthy, if he wants to realistically hold out any hope of getting Loki back.

And Thor does want that, getting Loki back. He does. He so very much does.

So, the project:

Basically, as he goes about his daily business – be it a picnic with Sigyn and Sif, a court date in a town a few counties away from home, or even just a drive downtown – Thor forces himself to _get out of his own head_ for a few minutes by instead carefully observing his surroundings. Every time he sees something he thinks Loki would like – a statue, an interesting building, a pretty landscape; anything at all – he takes a few minutes to find a nearby store and buys Loki a postcard.

He sends them all, too. Every one. 

He doesn’t write much on the back… usually just _I love you,_ or _I saw this and thought of you,_ because _I miss you_ and _we’ll go here someday_ feel too much like pressuring. Loki doesn’t have anything leftover with which to deal with Thor’s being needy, not right now. Thor knows that, he does. And whenever he forgets, his therapist is right there ready to jump in and remind him.

Still, every time he sends a postcard, it makes him smile. None of them have come back refused/return to sender, so he elects to believe they’re making Loki smile too.

~

After that first miserable failure Thor doesn’t try visiting again. Instead, he calls.

Eventually he calls so often that he graduates to speaking directly with Loki’s doctor. “He likes the postcards,” she tells him. “I mean it. Look, I know this is difficult for you. You just have to take my word for it when I tell you you’re doing the right things, and I understand that’s not easy. Recovery is not a process we can hurry,” she reminds Thor patiently when he grumbles about just wanting to see his-

-he almost says _brother_ but catches himself just in time.

“I know. I’m sorry,” he says.

“Don’t be,” she counters, and he can hear in her voice that she’s smiling. “You’re doing the best you can.”

Maybe he is, maybe he isn’t. Either way, it just doesn’t feel like enough.

~

“So you’ve been plugging him all along, eh? No shit.” Fandral has had just enough to drink – Thor has the old gang over for one last bash; Loki’s discharge planner has indicated the apartment will need to be completely devoid of alcohol, at least for a period of time, and it seems criminal to pour the good stuff down the sink – to be even less tactful than normal. He plays with his moustache, evidently thinking the whole thing over. “You know, I suppose I can’t say I’m really surprised,” he goes on, ignoring the look Sif shoots him from across the table. “There was always something a little weird about you two.”

Everyone freezes.

Thor’s honestly not sure if the comment leaves him angry or relieved. In the end, he decides to key in on how he’s for once managed not to deck his friend for saying it and just let the rest go.

The three of them eye him warily, but he lets that go too… they need time to get used to Thor 2.0, just like he needs time to get there. He can’t really blame them for being wary; he’s been blowing up at pretty much nothing for forever.

It’s not like he can promise he’s stopped, either. Not forever. The monster does still come out from time to time.

When he’d mentioned that during a therapy session, the social worker had nodded knowingly. Thor can’t help but thing there must be a story behind that somewhere. Sometimes he wishes he and his therapist were friends, instead, so he could pry.

They aren’t. He doesn’t.

Volstagg breaks the tension by belching loudly; Sif gives _him_ the look instead. “Just ignore our man Fandral, Thor,” he advises with an equally loud laugh. “He’s just disappointed. Fandral’s always wanted Loki for himself and this means… well, it just confirms that he’s never going to make it happen. Not like he had any hope of doing so anyway, but a man can dream.”

“Oh, right, because you’d be such a healthy match for Loki,” Sif chimes in.

“Good point, Siffy-girl,” Volstagg responds. “You know that’s _always_ been our dear Fandral’s first concern.”

When the laughter dies down, Thor clears his throat. “Please, all of you – and don’t think I don’t appreciate your support, because I really, truly do – remember that it’s absolutely critical that not one word of this makes it to to my father. I’m serious,” he stresses as they laugh again.

“We get it,” Volstagg assures him. “We do.” They all nod. “And, trust me – I know I speak for everyone here when I say I would do just about anything _not_ to be the one who breaks this particular news to the old ogre.”

They laugh again, but not so much because it’s funny.

~

The discharge-planning process is both complex and onerous. “It’s like they blame me for everything that happened,” he complains to Sif after the umpteenth phone call asking that his counselor provide yet another round of documentation.

“I know it’s frustrating, but try not to look at it that way,” she suggests. “It’s their job to make sure every possible contingency is covered. It’s no different, really,” she says with a small smile, “from what you do at court. And you want Loki’s care team to do the best they can for him, right?”

He does. Very much so. “Of course. But it sucks.”

Sif nods. “It sucks because _you_ still blame yourself for everything that happened.”

“I do not,” he huffs, bristling. But she’s not wrong, and after a moment he back-tracks. “Okay, maybe a little,” he admits.

She smiles again, a bit more broadly, and he’s not quite sure if she’s about to start laughing with him or at him. He smiles back, to try to make it _with him_. It doesn’t quite work somehow.

“Look,” she says, pointing her coffee-and-almond-milk-dripping spoon straight at Thor’s face, “we all of us made plenty of mistakes, and I guarantee we’ll make more. But none of us _made_ Loki sick, or addicted, or suicidal. Loki’s made own his share of mistakes… and he’ll make more, too. And a lot of it is beyond anyone’s control. It’s really not a blame thing.”

“He does blame me, though, sometimes,” he grumbles. Stubborn, he knows. Stubborn and sulky. But Loki _does_ blame Thor; he’s said so.

“He’s not always rational, remember. Oops, sorry,” she adds as a big drop of coffee splashes onto the table. “No, you stay put; I’ll grab some paper towels.”

Sif is sensible. Thor would be lost without her.

~

The first on-site meeting is just with the care team. Thor is nervous – even focusing on how pretty the place is, he still doesn’t manage to keep the painful memories of his last visit here completely at bay – but it’s nothing he can’t handle. He faces worse in court all the time.

That and, as he reminds himself firmly (since Sif isn’t here to do it for him), they’re ultimately all on the same team. All of them – Thor, the doctor, the ancillary caregivers, the case manager – want Loki safe and sound.

The meeting’s not too bad, it isn’t. And he passes inspection, which is the most important thing.

~

The next meeting, though, is going to be a whole different animal. For the first time since that night in the emergency room, months (that feel like a lifetime) ago, he is _going to see Loki._

Loki, who has died and risen from his own ashes.

Not that Thor hasn’t done the same, really, if he thinks about it that way.

~

On the drive up, he’s so tense he’s shaking. Sif did offer to ride along, but Thor feels like he needs to just man up and _do this._ For himself. For Loki. He’d promised to check in with her when he got home, and she’d – rather reluctantly, from the set of her shoulders and the look on her face – let it go.

Plus, if Loki was just going to reject him outright, Thor knows the team would not be going through this process. Instead, they would be finding a way to place their client somewhere else.

Still, he remembers Loki screaming and spitting that night like it was yesterday. What if it happens again now, and the care team sends Thor away?

Worse – far, far worse; the worst thing he can imagine – what if he and Loki just don’t _want_ each other anymore?

Scratch that; Thor still positively, completely wants Loki. He has months of dreams – dreams he hasn’t confessed to a single living soul – to prove it. _So, then, what if Loki doesn’t want him?_ That’s the real worry. It’s a horrible, terrifying thought, a punishing thought.

Which is probably why he can’t shake free of it.

_Because dwelling on it is so helpful._

~

Along the way, Thor drives past a small fishing village that looks like it hasn’t changed for hundreds of years. It’s a sunny day, and he’s left extra time to get to the meeting; he makes himself stop, look around, and buy a postcard.

Writes _I love you_ on the back and slips it into his jacket pocket.

The rest of the way there, he concentrates on thinking about the postcard instead of- of other things.

~

Even once he arrives, Thor really isn’t sure what to expect.

_No matter what happens, he is not going to cry._

The case manager meets him in the lobby. “Everyone will be in the room when we walk in,” she explains, helpfully. “Even Mr. Laufeyson. It won’t be very comfortable for you, I know,” she offers, with clear sympathy. “This is always the hardest part.” When he snorts, she goes on. “No, seriously, it is. Things really do get better.”

“Am I allowed to touch him,” Thor blurts out, realizing as the words leave his mouth that he’s sounding more than a bit creepy. “I mean, can I give him a hug? I miss him.”

She smiles at the desperation in his voice. “Let him come to you but, sure, if he wants a hug you are more than welcome to provide it.” She gestures to a door near the reception desk. “Are you ready? They’re waiting for us.”

He’s not, but how could he ever be? He swallows hard, then nods. “Let’s get this over with, so I can see if you’re right about things getting better.”

She smiles. “Oh, don’t worry; I am.”

~

Last time, it felt like a courtroom.

This time it feels like Purgatory.

Thor’s throat constricts painfully. Loki - _Loki; beautiful, delicate Loki_ \- sits on this side of the table, kind of sideways to the door. He’s talking to a man in a doctor’s coat sitting at the far end of the table. Comfortably dressed in a t-shirt and lightweight knit pants, Loki seems not so much a prisoner as a teenager again; hair in a messy ponytail, feet in slippers. Cute, even.

Before his brother turns towards the door, Thor has a moment to take him in – Loki has put some muscle back on. He looks _better_.

~

The door creaks as it closes and Loki spins quickly to face them. His eyebrows pinch together. Emotion after emotion crosses his pale face, the changes so fast they’re dizzying; Thor thinks he may just die right here in the doorway.

Instead, he makes himself hold out the postcard. “I got this for you,” he says lamely.

Loki says nothing; just stretches towards him and takes it. Studies one side and then the other, and then the first again.

Thor holds his breath. He’s shivering violently, despite how the room is if anything a little too warm. _Please please please please please._

“How beautiful,” Loki says at last. He gets to his feet, smooth and catlike.

 _Let him come to you,_ the case manager instructed, and – hard as it is – Thor does.

Loki hesitates for just a moment before literally throwing himself at his brother, his lover, arms and legs everywhere as he struggles to get as close as possible… and then closer still. He buries his warm face in Thor’s neck; the way Loki smells – heady, wonderful, unchanged after all this time – is almost overwhelming.

For perhaps half a minute Thor stands motionless. His head spins. Finally he wraps his arms around Loki as tightly as he can, in part just to keep from falling. Or so he tells himself, in case his brother wriggles free.

His brother doesn’t.

And then: “I’ve missed you so much,” Loki whispers, lips soft and warm against the side of his neck.

Thor does cry, right there in front of everyone.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a hard row to hoe.

"And you have sufficient resources in place for yourself as well?" The interviewer - he hasn't quite pinned her exact part in all this down yet, and the _Liaison – Risk Management and Client Protective Services_ identifier on her badge isn't really giving him enough to work with - tucks her dark auburn hair behind one ear and angles her head to better study his face closely.

Thor isn't exactly sure what she means to imply. "I- um-. Money is not a concern, if that's what you’re asking," - from her faint frown, it probably isn’t - "and I do have a therapist." He resists the urge to point out that _it's all right there in front of you in Loki’s file_ ; sure, she's been nothing but crisply professional and almost pleasant so far, but he has the strong impression she could kill him with her bare hands if she put her mind to it.

Without breaking a sweat, or a nail.

"And family? Close friends? People you can turn to when you are feeling overwhelmed?"

Not family, certainly. "Friends, yes," he says with a nod. He smiles. She doesn't. 

“But not family,” she confirms. Thor nods. He can't place her accent; something faintly Baltic.

There’s an uncomfortable disconnect between them; it somehow feels more personal than cultural, though, even though he’s never spoken with her before this meeting.

She makes quick notes here and there in the file, flipping back a page, then forward, and then back several more pages. Eventually she purses her lips, tapping her pen on the table, and closes the file again. "I'm sure you realize," she says in a mildly-condescending tone from which Thor gathers she's _actually not sure at all,_ "that part of our role is to be perfectly certain we are releasing each of our clients back into a safe, stable environment."

Thor does his best to continue to smile as he nods again, but his stomach clenches. _Shit._ He can guess, all too easily, precisely where this is going.

And sure enough: "According to our preliminary screening conversations with your therapist, you and Mr. Laufeyson have had some violent interactions in the past." She flips the bottom of the chart up just a little. "The not-too-distant past, in fact, as Mr. Laufeyson was still undergoing treatment for injuries suffered _in a dangerous altercation with you_ at the time of his admission here."

Somehow this whole business has gone from a conversation to an interview to a bad day in court in the space of three minutes. "Yes," he says quietly, simply; he knows from a veritable lifetime of experience not to volunteer one single thing further.

"Your therapist reports you have put a commendable amount of effort into finding more appropriate outlets for your anger." She pauses. Rather than responding prematurely he waits, channeling all his energy into projecting calm interest (instead of the acute discomfort - shame, guilt, defensiveness; Thor is much, much better at identifying what he's feeling these days, but he’s sure still feeling it, and this woman doesn't seem like she'd find any of his progress particularly impressive - he's actually suffering).

"But I'll be frank with you, Mr. Odinson; periods of transition and growth can be very challenging. This," - she circles the tail end of her pen in an all-encompassing motion - "will put both you and Mr. Laufeyson under considerable strain." She sets the pen down, on top of the file. "We need to make sure you have a plan in place to minimize your risk of lashing out. No matter what," she adds with the first smile he's seen on her face so far. "Because he can be a bit of a challenge, can't he?"

Oh, my, can Loki ever. But Thor is not going to fall for a garden-variety _co-conspirators... we're in this together, aren't we?_ ploy. "I realize how it probably comes across on paper, Ms." - he checks her badge again to confirm - "Romanov, but I can assure you I will not allow my br- _Loki_ to provoke me to that degree again." He finishes strong, all confident certainty, hoping that will (hide his racing heart and) cover his awful slip.

It doesn't, although for once her expression is nearly sympathetic. "Mr. Odinson, we're very thorough here. We simply do not let things slip through the cracks. But we do also make the best possible effort to evaluate each household, each relationship, on its own merits." Something shifts in her expression - for a fraction of a second, she’s a person with a past of her own and he almost thinks she might let her (impressive) guard down – but, just as quickly, the moment passes and her eyes narrow. "Rather than judging people based on their preferences."

Judged or not, Thor is not comfortable discussing his _preferences_ here... especially with this woman and her seamless, barely-even-human-at-all composure. "I appreciate that," he says, even though he isn't sure he really does, because it seems like the right thing to say. Moving on... "I've learned my lesson," he assures her. "I know the warning signs now. I won't let things go too far again."

It's her turn to nod. "That's an admirable approach. Keep in mind, though," she continues, looking him full in the face with uncomfortable intensity, "that nothing is ever fully within anyone's control. Work with your therapist to develop a plan. To line up your own resources. It’s more important than it might sound."

~

The discharge planner had advised Thor to _expect to spend all day with us_. Given how the morning has gone - only a couple of meetings down, several left to go - it's looking less and less like an over-exaggeration.

Which is unfortunate, considering he’s exhausted already.

~

At lunchtime he finally, _finally_ , gets to spend a little one-on-one time with his brother. Thor is not naive enough to think they are actually _alone_ \- even though the two of them have collected their respective lunches and Thor has let Loki lead the way out onto a fairly private little enclosed patio, they are doubtless being monitored - but they are at least free to hug and cuddle and hold hands.

Thor doesn't even want to talk, really. He just wants to look at Loki, endlessly; to have something to tide himself over until his brother can leave this place and come home.

Loki catches him staring and smiles shyly. Thor really can't get over how _young_ his brother looks; fresh and newly-minted and beautiful. "What are you staring at," Loki asks, cheeks abruptly a little pink.

"You," Thor says, feeling his own face heating. "You're just impossibly attractive, you know?" He's trying very hard to be in the present today, to not dwell on the past. Frankly, with the present looking this fucking good, doing so is proving considerably less challenging than he’d anticipated.

It’s a whole lot harder at home. Alone.

Loki takes a dainty bite of his panini, sets it down gently, and flicks out a pink, pink tongue to clean the oily crumbs from his own fingers.

It – the tongue, the _licking_ \- goes straight through Thor, who takes a big, ill-timed gulp of soda and ends up coughing and sputtering. _I could do this for all eternity_ , he thinks as he wipes at his eyes and nose with a napkin. _Just sit here in this pretty garden watching you._ He carefully doesn't say it aloud; their situation feels a bit tenuous just now and he’d really rather not come across as a creeper.

From the smug little smile on Loki's face, it’s not like he really needs to come right out and say it anyway.

Instead, he just looks and looks and looks some more.

Even the neat scars - that _I (heart) Thor_ will follow Loki to his grave, it seems - don't prove disturbing. It's all Loki. It’s what makes Loki _Loki_ , really, and Thor loves it. All of it.

~

Talking, though, is harder. There are just too many mines in this particular minefield; Thor can't think of a single opening line - _how are you, you look good, do you like it here, how have they been treating you, how are you feeling_ \- that isn't dangerously close to incendiary. In the end he gives up without saying anything at all and simply holds out a hand.

That's all the encouragement it takes. Within the space of five heartbeats Thor is slumped back in his wicker chair, Loki sprawled happily across his lap. His brother's shiny black ponytail tickles all down the side of Thor’s neck as Loki's head drops back to rest against his shoulder.

"Ohhhh," Loki says on a long sigh. "Yes. This is nice."

It _is_ nice. Thor sets both hands at Loki's waist, pleased to feel lean muscle flexing and shifting beneath his fingers. He lets his hands slide slowly together – over top of the clothes, above the waist - until he can interlace his own fingers. It's a simple, casual gesture, nothing even close to indecent, but it has Loki panting just the same.

"I've missed you so much," his brother says again, mouth grazing Thor's jaw.

It - like everything about Loki - is both far too much and not nearly enough. "Can I kiss you," Thor whispers, pulling his brother closer still. He’s embarrassingly needy. Embarrassingly hard.

Apparently kissing is okay, because they do. They are. The angle is awkward and they both taste more than a little like lunch, but it's heaven. Better than heaven.

~

"Are you seeing someone," Loki asks - abruptly, right out of nowhere - when they pull wetly apart. Thor can't quite see his brother's face at this angle. Still, there's no missing the strain in Loki's voice.

"Of course not." He runs a hand up Loki's chest and neck, fingers brushing lightly over the scars along his brother's sharp jaw. It’s like reading the story if his brother’s life, in braille.

"I wasn't sure you would wait." Loki's simple statement carries the awful punch of longstanding fear.

"I would," Thor assures him, biting back all the _wrong questions_ \- things like _why would you even think that?!_ \- that spring too quickly to mind. "I have. I am. I will," he stresses, wrapping Loki from behind in a powerful hug. He kisses his brother's neck softly, sweetly. "I will."

After that Loki sits quiet. They both do, warm and sated and almost drowsy. When – far too soon - a bright chime heralds the end of mealtime, both of them jump.

~

It isn't until he's already sitting down to the next meeting that Thor realizes nothing they ate at lunch required utensils; that there wasn’t a single knife or fork to be seen. He’s not sure why, but the realization makes him shudder.

~

As he starts the drive home Thor feels upbeat. Enthusiastic. Hopeful.

It's a long enough drive, though, that he has a little too much time to think. Maybe a _lot_ too much time, even.

_Car service._

_Substance-free housing._

_Suicide precautions._

_Daily check-ins._

_Intensive day-treatment._

_Thrice-weekly psychiatric care._

_Group therapy._

_Drug testing._

It’s a long, long, difficult list. Scary long.

_Getting healthy has been just like working two full-time jobs,_ one of the staffers had cautioned Thor. _And, to be honest with you, for a while staying healthy will be much the same. Of course Mr. Laufeyson will be the one doing that work,_ she'd admitted, _but his journey towards lasting recovery will also place a tremendous burden on you. Are you up for it,_ she'd asked, all earnest expression and wrinkled brow. _Because it you're not, now is the time to say so._

_Of course I'm up for it,_ he'd responded - immediately, unthinking - and he'd absolutely meant it.

He still means it.

He does.

But now, as he sits – head in his hands – cold and alone in his dark apartment, the huge, all-consuming nature of it threatens to crush him.

It’s terrifying.

All he can do is try.

But he _has_ been trying, all his adult life. He’s been trying hard. So fucking hard.

And trying has never been anywhere close to enough.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thor tries really, really hard.

"I- I just don't know." The whole idea makes him terribly uncomfortable, to the point where he can hardly even stand to be here, in this room, anymore. "I- I can't- I don't want him to feel that way." His voice breaks, out of frustration or sorrow or both. "I want him to be happy."

This is at least the fourth time his therapist has put forth some flavor of this explanation, and at least the fourth time Thor has not been able to stomach it.

"I can see I'm not communicating this effectively. I'm sorry." He looks sorry, too, with his wire-framed glasses dangling from one hand and the bridge of his nose pinched tightly between the thumb and forefinger of the other. 

Still, the idea that Loki has to go through life wanting to hurt himself - wanting to _kill_ himself - is a horrible one. Thor just doesn't get how he's supposed to accept it. "I just- I- how is this supposed to be- to be fucking okay," he stammers. "Why can't they fix it? Why? Why can't they fix _him?_ "

He _is_ paying attention, he is. Despite his horror, Thor really is listening.

Loki feels things – awful, dreadful things – and since the doctors can't stop that part they are instead helping him to accept his feelings and- and to understand that he's not obligated to act on them.

In a vacuum, that part almost makes sense; it's not radically different than what Thor has learned over the past few months about managing his own anger.

Sometimes he still feels like he wants to put his fist through the wall... but then he stops and thinks and makes a conscious choice not to. So, yeah, that part he can comprehend.

But- but it's different when he thinks about Loki feeling _such awful things._ He doesn't _want_ his brother having to feel things- things like that - he can't even say them in his own head without his stomach rolling – and to choose not to act on them. Well, yes, he _does_ want Loki to choose not to act... of course... but the whole mess sounds like such an emotional death sentence. He just can’t imagine going through life that way. He can’t. It makes him want to hurt someone, actually.

"What are you feeling," his therapist asks, interrupting Thor's internal whirlwind.

"Sad." He thinks for a moment. "Overwhelmed and frustrated and furious and sad. It's just so unfair," he blurts out. "No one should have to live like that."

The therapist nods. "It is unfair, you're right. And I know this part is hard to accept... but for Loki this actually comes as a relief. This may easily be the first time in his life he's been told it's okay to feel the way he feels."

 _But it's NOT okay,_ Thor wants to roar. It’s so fucking NOT OKAY. He can’t lose his temper, though; he's trying to get through this and flipping out will only make it worse.

Even so, the struggle must show in his face. "Here, bear with me a moment,” the social worker requests. “Will you think about something for me?"

Thor nods. At this point, what's left to lose?

"Is there anything in your life - unrelated to your brother, please - that scares you far out of proportion to the actual danger it poses?"

"A phobia," Thor says proudly. He _is_ listening during his sessions, he is. "Um... well, I'm pretty terrified by the whole idea of getting stung by a bee… which is stupid because I'm not even allergic."

"Perfect." For once the therapist lets the little bit of negativity - _stupid_ \- go; he must be as sick of having this Groundhog Day of a conversation as Thor is. "So, put yourself in this situation for me: You're the only one home, and there's a bee in the bathroom." Thor shudders. He can _see_ the bee. "Good, good,” the therapist says. “You reeeeally need to take a leak; what do you do?"

"I pee in the kitchen sink?" Thor snickers; he has to break the tension somehow. "Well, no, seriously; I would catch the bee in something and pitch it out a window."

The therapist nods. "And how would you makes yourself do that?"

"I would tell myself I could." _And that only a total wimp is scared of stupid fucking bugs, so I should just man up and-._

"And if you somehow had the misfortune to need to do the exact same thing several times a day for six months-."

"-I would rent a new fucking apartment," Thor cuts in and they both laugh. "Sorry, you were saying?"

"If you did it over and over, would it get easier?"

"Of course." Thor's had that happen with all kinds of things, at work especially – they start out difficult but eventually become routine. Even when he _knew_ at the beginning that he couldn’t do them and that they never would feel comfortable. Perhaps _especially_ then.

"Good... and if your friends were all calm and rational about bees in your presence, what would that do?"

He pictures the scene unfolding; as he does so, he can actually feel the relief wash over him... Sif laughing and commiserating - _I used to hate bees but it's gotten better_ \- and handing him a plastic container to catch the stupid fucking thing. He smiles to himself. "I would feel better. Supported.” He laughs. “I would feel a whole lot more like I wasn't crazy."

_Ohhhhh._

Thor leans forward and rests his head in his own hands. "Okay, I see your point now." He swallows hard, groaning as his whole body rebels again. "But this- these- it's just really, really fucking hard for me. I can't- I feel like I'm telling Loki it's okay to- to-..." He can't even get it out. "I feel like I'm giving him permission to off himself," he forces himself to spit out in an agitated rush.

This is so, so goddamn hard. 

"Thor," the therapist reminds him gently, "Loki doesn't need anyone's permission to kill himself."

He _knows_ that. Hates it, but knows it. "But- but-... but I love him." Out of the blue tears stream down his face. "I want him to be happy," he reiterates. "I- I just- I-," - he scrubs at his face roughly, with both hands - "I don't know if I can do this."

The therapist lets out a sympathetic little hum. "I think you have enough time - it's not like he's going to be coming home this weekend." It's a good point, although thinking about it – _more_ lonely time without Loki – even briefly only makes Thor cry all the harder. "I’ll help you. We'll work on this together."

~

"Hey! Good to hear your voice!"

Thor smiles, listening to Sif chat up his brother on the phone. The time all three of them spent here together before- well, just _before,_ is paying unexpected dividends now; she has clearly developed a genuine fondness for Loki that somehow manages not to veer into jealous-making territory. It’s a big comfort and he’s grateful.

"Yeah, he's here." She nods into the phone, at something Loki says. "Sure. I'll put him on. But no phone sex, kiddos." She winks at Thor. "I'm trying to eat, here."

~

The place is really too far away for after-work visits, and the staffers have made it clear his brother's during-the-week schedule is both jam-packed and inflexible. Now that the ice has finally been broken, though, Thor and Loki have spoken via phone every few days.

Even so, there hasn't been anything close to _phone sex;_ Loki has been temporarily divested of his smartphone, which means he's stuck using the wall phone in the lounge. The crowded, noisy lounge.

That, and Thor feels... awkward. Shy and awkward and not sure what's acceptable. Not sure what Loki wants or needs.

Their first few calls are just strained, draggy small-talk. Both Thor's therapist and Loki's case manager have cautioned against skirting around - skipping over - the _difficult topics_ , though; this is supposed to be _practice time_ for the normal ups and down (not to mention the abnormal ones) of a life together.

Tonight Sif is here to help with damage control, so Thor vows to it a try.

He'd twisted his ankle last week - nothing embarrassing or out-of-control, just a simple misstep on the stairs at the city courthouse - and Loki's politely solicitous _so, how's the ankle?_ provides the perfect lead-in.

"It's better. Thanks. I can almost walk like a normal person." He clears his throat. "Speaking of that - of injuries," he clarifies with a nervous little giggle, "how is your jaw doing?"

Sif makes an exaggerated _Ooooooh!_ face from her perch on the countertop; Thor flips her off. Two handed, even, balancing the phone uncomfortably between shoulder and cheekbone. She salutes him with her pizza.

It takes Loki a little while to respond (during which time, despite Sif’s best attempts at entertainment, Thor swears his heart will pound its way clean out of his chest and flop about in bloody acrobatics on the floor). "It's pretty good, actually," his brother finally answers. "Most days it barely hurts at all. The doctor here says you missed your calling," he adds with a quiet huff of laughter. "You should have been a boxer, not a lawyer, he tells me."

"No, he’s wrong; I'm way too pretty to be a boxer," Thor jokes without thinking, but it's _good_ and they both laugh for real.

"Too modest, too," Loki pokes back.

"Yeah, Sif's gagging over here." Thor takes a deep breath and makes himself push on to the hard part. "I know I've said it before, but I owe you at least a few more rounds anyway; I'm really sorry about that."

Loki snorts but when he goes on his voice sounds suspiciously wet. "Oh, I think we're pretty even. Oh, stop it, you big sap," he adds as Thor has to snuffle. "No crying. I'm in public here."

"Sorry, sorry. Look, I should let you get back to your- is it crocheting on Tuesdays? I love you, baby," he adds over Loki's good-natured-sounding _oh, go fuck yourself._ "I love you," Thor says again when his brother quiets down.

"I love you too," Loki announces for pretty much the first time ever, and then "bye." He hangs up with a clatter before Thor can react at all.

~

As they draw within a few weeks of a likely discharge, his brother's care team schedules a conference call - sans Loki, for this initial discussion - to talk about a _half-day outing._ Since this will be Loki's first time outside the facility without a staff member - and Thor's and Loki's first completely-unmonitored encounter - since admission, there is a lot of ground to cover.

A lot of ground, and a lot of _ground rules_.

Thor tries hard not to look at the whole thing as a punishment. No one is getting detention, no matter how familiar this lecture may be. Still, when it's time to confirm his understanding, he knows he's guilty of parroting back - "No drinking, nothing illegal, no medication that isn’t both on his care form AND in his mediset, limited caffeine, no intentional injuries to or from either party..." - with more than a little attitude. 

Oh well, might as well own it: "And no kissing with tongues, and no hands under the blouse or below the waist. Sorry," he offers once it’s out of his system. "I just feel like I'm going to a middle school dance. Sorry,” he says again when no one responds, just to fill the silence. “I know this is serious. I’m taking it seriously, I am. It’s just- uncomfortable, you know?”

~

Thor wakes up to a partly sunny day, with scattered clouds out over the water and a nice breeze. He’s not sure he’s ever in his life taken this long to pick out an outfit. Which is utterly ridiculous, of course, because his brother has seen him in everything and nothing. Their future does not hang on the cut of a shirt or the worn seat of a pair of jeans. He knows that.

He can’t help it, all the same. He’s so, so nervous.

The drive up is uneventful. Thor arrives way too early (see: nervous), so he continues on into the closest waterfront town and scopes out all the lunch options. One in particular catches his eye – an intimate little café with a nice menu and a lovely view out over the harbor. He grabs a paper menu from the bin by the door and makes his way back to the car, so tense his hands are shaking.

~

It feels like a _first date,_ in the worst (and best) possible way.

~

Especially when he arrives back at his destination - only slightly early now - and settles in to wait for Loki on the reception area sofa. 

Well, perches, actually; Thor is far, far too tense to settle.

~

Loki materializes through one of the doors along the wall, right on schedule, chatting with one of his doctors and the discharge planner. He catches sight of his visiting brother and his beautiful face lights up like nobody’s business.

Suddenly it’s all worth it. Thor feels hot from the top of his head to the soles of his feet.

The care team members run the two of them quickly through a refresher course of _The Rules,_ help Thor with how to use - and document on - the mediset, and call out their goodbyes as he takes Loki’s hand and leads his brother out through the heavy wooden door.

At the top of the steps Loki pauses and inhales deeply. “Mmm, what a nice day.” He gives Thor’s fingers a quick squeeze. “It’s really, really nice to see you.”

“And I’m really, really nervous,” Thor confesses.

Loki shoots him a quick, sharp look and leans close. “I hear it’s like riding a bike,” he intones, breath warm across Thor’s ear. “At least” – he licks into Thor’s ear, hot and wet and irresistible – “that’s what they say.”

 _Want_ courses through him like so much fire. “Let’s get off the grounds first,” Thor growls. “Now.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thor and Loki bend the rules. For once, no one comes away really damaged.

"Here, let me get that." Thor scoots out ahead and graciously opens the car door for Loki, planting a quick kiss on the top of his brother's head as Loki ducks and swings in under the doorframe.

They've managed to lose steam somehow on the walk to the parking lot; Loki's stopped flirting and Thor's- well, just not sure where this is going anymore. As he slides in behind the wheel and puts the key in the ignition, he has to stifle a worried sigh; he's so nervous, and so uncomfortable. Where just a few short minutes ago he'd been incredibly excited, the prospect of four hours spent together now stretches out before him like an eternity.

~

They set off down the winding driveway, Loki silent and Thor doing inner battle with a powerful, rising sense of dread. _So, how are you today,_ he knows he should ask, but the words stick in his throat and he just can't find a way to make himself get started.

At this rate, it’s going to be a long, long day.

~

They're barely off the premises, though - just past the gatehouse and bumping out onto the public roadway - when Loki snakes a hand up Thor's thigh. At first his fingers trace here and there, up and down, lightly.

It’s purposeless. Innocuous. Friendly, even; companionable. Just this side of tickling.

Thor forces himself not to read into it. He sneaks a look at Loki; out of the corner of his eye, Thor can see his brother avidly taking in the surroundings. Everything about him looks peaceful.

Maybe saying nothing is okay, then. Thor tries not to worry. He lets his own mind wander, thinking ahead to the lunch menu. After a couple of minutes he’s in his own world, no longer paying even the least attention to what Loki is doing.

~

"Mmnnn!" He is caught - it probably shouldn't have come as a surprise, but it does; oh, does it ever - completely off-guard as his brother's fingers find his groin. It's suddenly all Thor can do to keep his eyes on the road; to stop himself from bucking up as Loki deftly works his zipper down and wraps a cool hand around his rapidly hardening cock. "Fuck- Loki- driving," he grits out. "Oh god."

"So?" Loki's laughing, but he sounds a little breathless too. Thor doesn't dare turn to look at him; keeping the car on the road is already plenty challenging enough. "This is a pretty secluded area,” his brother points out, “from the looks of it."

Out of nowhere Loki runs a thumb over the head of Thor's cock; Thor swerves, overcorrects, and swerves again. Tires squeal. The car shudders. "It doesn't seem like you're in any shape to drive, dearest," his brother observes drily. "Perhaps we should find a place to pull over for a little while." He laughs again. “Just until you’re feeling better.”

~

There's a nature preserve right down the road from the facility; Thor had spotted its faded, peeling sign on his way back from town earlier. He jerks the wheel, dislodging Loki’s hand, and swings into the driveway. It's just a glorified clearing, really; a little dirt lane leading to a small patch of flattened grass that's apparently serving as a parking lot. Mid-morning on a weekday, it's profoundly deserted.

At the moment, that's what really matters.

In fact, it’s the only thing that matters.

~

Thor barely has the car in park before Loki is squirming up over the center console and into the back seat. 

Not that Thor isn't right on his brother's heels, grunting as he wedges himself between the front seats and barely squishes through.

They haven't done this since- since that fateful summer after Loki's aborted attempt at college. There is not a whole lot of room back here, not nearly as much as Thor remembers. The rest, though, is essentially the same; Loki, eyes bright and bottom lip caught in his teeth, wriggles most of the way out of his pants while Thor digs frantically - in his pockets, his coat, anywhere - for something slippery. Or greasy. Or both.

He fumbles a small pot of powerfully-tangerine-flavored lip balm, nearly dropping it more than once. While he struggles with it Loki - all frantic motion in such tight quarters - rakes Thor’s jeans halfway down his thighs with one hand and works his cock _hard_ with the other.

Thor drops the balm between them on the seat and wrangles first Loki’s right and then left wrists overhead. His brother tugs and wiggles, but his eyes are huge and dark and there's no real fight in his face. Like pretty much always, he’s pushing just because he can.

"Oh, jesus," Thor rasps as Loki gets one calf up onto his shoulder (kneeing him in the cheek in the process, but Thor's far too gone to care). "Fuck, Loki."

"That's the idea," Loki quips, "isn't it?"

Both his brother's thin wrists caught up together now, Thor digs around on the seat for the lip balm with his free hand. Success: He scoops out a generous finger-full and sends the rest fucking flying... and then kisses Loki sloppily breathless as he slathers them both. The car fills with bright tangerine scent; it’s sharp and sour and it makes Thor’s mouth water.

He pushes in slowly, too riled up for further prep but still trying his best to be something approaching – okay, distantly approaching - considerate. Loki squawks out a pained little _ahh!_ and Thor freezes. "Sorry sorry sorry," he says into his brother’s mouth, over top of Loki’s gasping _no it's fine just a second just a second okay go go go._

Thor doesn't need to be told twice. He works his way further… further… with shallow little thrusts until there’s no place further to go and then holds up of his own accord, until Loki's body relaxes a little and his heel is drumming on Thor’s back

And then they go at it like wild animals, hissing and pounding and growling.

~

For far from the first time Thor wishes he had more hands. He can't possibly keep Loki's wrists still and his busy, sharp-toothed little mouth off his own neck, maintain anything in the way of balance, and work his brother's straining erection, all with just the two hands he was born with.

Not that it really matters; they probably don't make it even two minutes before he pulls out with a harsh gasp and comes all over Loki's inner thigh... and it's only a handful of frenzied strokes later that his brother, teeth sunk into Thor's forearm, sprays his own singularly impressive load pretty much everywhere.

~

Thor lets go of Loki's wrists and kneels up, ducking to the side to avoid nailing the edge of the sunroof. "Holy shit, Loki," he pants as his brother melts into the seat in a sweaty, gasping, sticky heap.

He surveys the mess, grinning. "Well, _this_ is going to take some explaining," he says, scooping a glob of semen off his brother’s shirt and holding his hand up, dripping, for Loki to see.

Loki grabs his wrist and pulls it down with surprising strength. Thor moans as his brother’s tongue wraps around his fingers. “Stop, you,” Thor admonishes, laughing. “God, we didn’t do a very good job following the rules, did we?”

Not that they ever have.

“No drinking, no drugs, limited caffeine,” Loki ticks off, talking around Thor’s fingers. “There may be a few injuries,” –Thor snorts, rubbing his smarting hickey with his free hand, “but they certainly weren’t intentionally inflicted. Well, mostly not. Oh,” he adds, glancing around the inside of the car with an evil smirk. “I suppose there is the bit about _illegal._ "

~

They clean up as best they can with a towel out of Thor’s gym bag and some hand sanitizer from inside the console. There’s a little blood – it’s been a while, and Thor didn’t really manage to be very _gentle_ \- and a few bruises that were obviously left by fingers or teeth, but all in all it’s nothing really awful.

Still. “They’re not going to strip-search you, are they,” Thor asks his brother with a nervous snicker.

“I don’t think so,” Loki says, scrubbing away at his shirt with the towel. “They’re definitely going to sit me down and talk with me, though.” He looks at his shirt, then stretches forward and angles the rear-view mirror with one hand. “I think we need to find- well, a bathroom,” he continues, peering at his own reflection. “And then a laundromat?"

~

Half an hour later they sit, Thor bare-chested under his leather jacket and Loki practically swimming in Thor’s rumpled black t-shirt, picking at yet another set of chipped plastic chairs as Loki’s shirt (with Thor’s filthy towel, and his other gym stuff just because they’re paying for a load regardless) sloshes back and forth in the front-loader.

The place is otherwise empty, not even an attendant at the desk, but – just in case - they take turns washing up in the grimy little unisex bathroom. It’s a small town and they’ve already gotten away with murder fucking in the car – there is for sure no need to blow it all on something as stupid as _getting caught in the washroom together_.

Plus, when you get right down to it, Thor could use a little space to get his head back together… and Loki didn’t protest his own turn, so he may well be feeling much the same.

When Thor comes back out, trying to look nonchalant even though he’s actually a bit frantic – he left his brother unattended; _that_ can’t be on the _allowed list_ either – Loki is leaning back, chair balanced on two legs, reading a trashy women’s magazine. “Hey, beautiful,” Thor says as he sits back down. “Are you okay?”

Loki smiles. “My ass is a little sore, let’s just say, but I don’t think you’ve managed to damage anything permanently.”

“Good to know. I’d hate to think I’d put you out of commission,” Thor teases. But then he sobers up and presses on. “How are you, though, beyond that?”

“Getting by. Look, Thor,” – Loki clanks back down onto all four chair legs – “I know this makes you really uncomfortable. We don’t have to talk about it.”

“No, we do.” Thor wipes his mouth. “I’m trying- trying to do better.”

Loki leans over and rests his head on Thor’s shoulder. “Yeah, me too.”

~

Four hours doesn’t turn out to be all that long after all. They do make it to lunch – Thor’s secretly thrilled when his brother ooohs and ahhhs like crazy over the cute little café – but they only get to spend a few minutes at the harbor overlook before it’s time to start back.

The drive to the compound is- well, it’s differently hard. The two of them are once again quiet – full and sore and more than a little sleepy – but, for Thor at least, it’s sadness and not anxiety that stills his tongue this time. In just a few minutes he’s going to have to _give Loki back,_ and he really doesn’t want to; what he _wants_ to take his brother _home._


End file.
